


Sam Winchester, falling

by batgirlSwrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Destiel, Dream Sex, M/M, OT3, Protectiveness, Seduction, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, rewritten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batgirlSwrite/pseuds/batgirlSwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you want?”<br/>“You.” Gabriel says bluntly.<br/>“What?”<br/>“You.” Lucifer repeats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Winchester, falling

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the song 'Evil Angel' by Breaking Benjamin.  
> Disclaimer: I own jack squad, that is to say, nada, that is to say, nothing at all.

_Wings_.

Sam looks up from his laptop. Castiel is standing in their motel room, hands in the trenchcoat’s pockets, staring at him. “Sam.”

“Cas? You alright?” Dean asks, that guilt-tinged worry in his voice he’s never been quite able to hide, ever since Cas came back from purgatory.

Castiel blinks, frowns like he has a major headache. “Yes... I need to warn you.”

“About what?” Sam asks immediately.

“The A-” Cas caves, sinks to his knees, and vanishes.

“The fuck?” Dean curses, jumps and runs across the room. Suddenly, Castiel is back, face contorted in pain. “Mind control. I don’t have much time. Archangels back.” He groans and buries his head in his hands, and there is a trickle of dark red blood running out of one of his ears. “Naomi!”

“Cas, talk to me!” Dean panics, and then Castiel is zapped away again.

He doesn’t return a second time.

Dean looks at Sam alarmed and Sam is already dialing.

“ _Yes?”_

“Kevin, are you in the bunker?”

_“Where else would I be?”_

Their prophet is annoyed.

“Don’t leave under any circumstances.” Sam commands. “We have reason to believe that the archangels have been… resurrected.”

_“What? What have you done this time?”_

“We haven’t done anything.” Sam says unnerved. The irony is, of course, that considering their history, Kevin’s question is entirely reasonable. “Cas just dropped in, with a major headache, fighting to stay here and talk to us, and he said his mind is being controlled and the archangels are back.”

 _“Great.”_ There is a dull thump on the other end of the phone, confirming that Kevin just let his head drop on the table. Sam takes an evenly measured breath. “The bunker is angel secure. I checked it myself. You’re safe. We’ll join you as soon as we can. Can you get started on the research?”

 _“Sure._ ” Kevin says, about as happy as Dean would be at the prospect of a low carb diet, but he’s a good kid.

“We’ll call you once we’re one hour out.” Sam hangs up and scans his brother, reading Dean effortlessly. “We’ll find a way to help him.”

“Son of a bitch went and did it again.” Dean growls.

“We don’t know that yet.” Sam says soothingly, well aware that from the moment Dean learned that Cas stayed behind on his own willingly, the angel-shaped guilt complex in Dean’s mind has grown indefinitely.

 

Capturing an angel is not as easy as capturing a demon, but they manage by means of careful, tempting prayer, holy oil and sheer luck. Muriel, wearing a deputy, under threats of being torched and sold to Crowley for information, falters and gives in. News of poor Samandriel have gotten around, apparently. Castiel is in heavenly confinement, rumor has it he’s being reprogrammed. Sam and Dean have to take a whole five minutes to discuss the fact that that is even possible.

And yes, Michael and Raphael have gloriously returned from the dead, which makes Cas not special at all anymore. The angels have changed, they have learned just enough about disobedience so that bringing the different opposing parties of the heavenly host back in line again is quite a feat for only two archangels to handle at once. Mutated Cas apparently made sure to permanently vaporize the entire chain of higher command. The conflicts will surely be settled soon; and as of now, things don’t look very well for the Winchesters’ favourite dick with wings.

After they let Muriel go with vague threats to summon and torch her if she so much as mentions them, Sam tries his hardest to keep Dean from despairing, but it isn’t very easy when he himself misses Castiel, too. And then there is the lingering doubt and suspicion in the back of his mind, that if Michael and Raphael are back, then what about their two brothers?

The night after the day they set Muriel free, Dean declares that he is done; and he needs alcohol and distraction, and for once Sam agrees, resigning for an early night because unlike Dean, he never had the ability to fuck his worries away. And then Sam dreams.

_He is in a room, a wide and spacious room. The walls are cream white and warm gold, one wall is completely glassed over, looking at a stormy sea at night, and Sam is standing in front of the bed, a porno-dimension king-sized bed with snow white sheets. Jess is writhing on the covers, naked and gorgeous, and Madison is kneeling between her legs, eating her out, and Sam feels overwhelming lust and fury at the sight._

_“This is fucked up in so many ways.” He growls, and his guilt follows him into his dreams apparently, because even though he is growing hard, he is also feeling a gigantic amount of resentment towards himself. “Stop it.” Sam demands, loud and clearly. Jess and Madison shapeshift and then suddenly, it’s a second Sam on the bed, a few years younger than his real self, hair shorter and wilder, and he is with that one boy from the frat party during Sam’s first semester of pre-law, just before he met Jess. And Sam doesn’t even know his name, but the violation of privacy that comes with this dream is infuriating._

_“Gabriel, Lucifer, I don’t know which one of you is causing this, but you will stop right now.” Sam growls._

_Upon his words, the men on the bed shift again, and then it’s Gabriel, pinning Lucifer to the mattress while he rides his cock, moaning obscenely loud and needy while Lucifer growls some Enochian curses, and Sam can do nothing but stare now, unsure where the sudden heat comes from. Both angels on the bed are naked and glistening with sweat, and Sam suppresses the sudden need to lick their skin, to learn the differences between their tastes, to follow the way the room’s warm light plays on their skin. He knows about mind games, and he knows that he cannot give in to this one, because once he does, they’ll never stop again._

_“Oh Sam.” Lucifer sighs and looks at him smirking. “Whatever makes you think we would do that anyways?”_

Sam wakes, sweating and achingly hard, and it’s all he can do to reassure himself that Dean isn’t anywhere in the room before he violently jerks himself of, unable to forget that last image, the way both Lucifer’s _and_ Gabriel’s eyes had clung to him, and Sam is pretty certain that even though Lucifer was real (he just _knows_ that), he couldn’t have faked Gabriel that convincingly, which would mean that Gabriel was real, too… _Oh fuckfuckfuck…_ The thought drives him over the edge and he comes into his hand, shaking and sweating and very much aware that this answers any and all questions about whether or not Gabriel and Lucifer are alive. Now he only has to figure out a way to tell Dean.

 

 

The next morning finds Sam sitting in a booth in a nameless Diner, reading the menu and waiting for Dean. Someone sits down across from him and Sam’s knuckles turn white when he looks up into the very blue eyes of someone he hoped he’d never see again.

“Hello, Sam.”

Lucifer is not smiling. He looks at Sam hungrily and cryptic, barely the hint of a smirk on his chapped lips. Sam knows what they feel like on every part of his skin. He still has some memories from the cage, those untainted by complete insanity, and the ones of almost-forced, direly needed pleasure sadly enough count among them, even though Sam, to this day, is not sure what was his imagination and what was real.

“What do you want?” Sam asks, not quite knowing where his calm comes from but aware that it is the only thing between him and that pitch black, sharp pile of shards his mind would shatter into if he would ever let go of it.

“No greetings? Impolite.” Lucifer tuts. “I’m just checking up on my favourite boytoy.”

 _Now who’s the rude one._ Sam thinks but doesn’t say, but their approaching waiter laughs out loud nonetheless. “What can I get you two sweethearts?” Gabriel asks and Sam clenches his jaw. “I’m good until my brother arrives. Thank you.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Samsquatch.” Gabriel replies cheerfully from directly next to him. He looks at Sam like he’s a rare piece of most delicious candy, his caramel eyes gleaming with mischief. Sam flinches, all his hunter instincts screaming at him to _run fast_ because all he has on him are two knives and a 9mm, which is about as useful as the teaspoon that came with his coffee. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses.

Lucifer raises his eyebrows amused. “Cursing so early in the morning? Sam, Sam, Sam.”

“Had a rough night?” Gabriel asks, grinning widely. Sam suppresses the growl and any question that comes up, even though his thoughts are racing his heart rate right now, and instead focuses, because he is the analytical, cool brother and figuring things out is what he does.

“I am not saying yes to being your vessel again.” He starts, steel in his voice.

“Whyever would I want that?” Lucifer gives back, as if it were the most absurd thought in the world.

“For the Apocalypse you are going to restart.” Sam gives back coldly and Gabriel sighs. “Why do you think we are in hiding? Luci has joined me in witness protection for the second half time of eternity.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No apocalypse. You have my word.” Lucifer says, and _fuck this_ , Sam knows it is true then. It is completely absurd, and Sam hates himself a little more every time he thinks about it, but in all the time he’s known him, Lucifer has been more truthful with him than every single person that Sam would entrust with his life.

“Yeah, that’s a real awful track record.” Gabriel comments nonchalantly and Sam looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Out of my head.”

“You’re thinking too articulated, sweetheart.” Lucifer informs him winking.

Sam’s skin crawls. “If there won’t be an apocalypse, then why are you here?”

“I love that business tone of yours. All hunter.” Gabriel sighs and blinks at him mock-dreamily.

“If you won’t answer, leave.” Sam gives back sternly and Lucifer laughs sharply. “Really? If more humans were like you, I might develop a taste for your race after all.” He crooks his head, very obviously eye-fucking Sam.

Sam remains calm. “What do you want?”

“You.” Gabriel says bluntly.

“ _What_?”

“You.” Lucifer repeats. He leans back and crosses his arms. “Of course, sharing you with my little brother was not the original plan, but what can I say?” Lucifer meets Gabriel’s eyes and the trickster gives him a wide grin. “You love me.”

“There was never any doubt about that, was there.” Lucifer says lowly.

 _This is not happening._ Sam thinks calmly, focusing on his zen.

“Ah, you’ll get used to it, Samsquatch.” Gabriel is happy.

“You are not returning to heaven and hell.” Sam concludes, sorting the funnel of thoughts in his head.

“Of course not.” Gabriel clicks his tongue in distaste. “Raphi and Mickey are dying to sort the mess. And Luci is in a little existential crisis thanks to you and your brother.”

It sounds like friendly chatter, while it really is a revelation about the conflicts of the mightiest entities in the universe. Sam needs either more coffee or more alcohol in his system.

A glass of the most delicious latte macchiato Sam ever smelled appears in front of him.

“You don’t like being drunk.” Lucifer reminds him.

“Go away.”

“Don’t be like that.” Gabriel _whines_. He’s making puppy dog eyes at Sam.

Lucifer chuckles in turn, sending Sam a wry smile.

Sam closes his eyes and recalls the images of every poor sod the trickster ever killed. He sees Jo die, holding the hellhound’s bite close to keep her intestines contained, he sees Ellen’s brave face. Sam imagines in graphic detail alligator bites and twisted necks. Jess burns on the ceiling and Brady laughs in his face. Dean dies, over and over and over again. Dean looks up at him, the Impala in his back, face demolished by hits of Sam’s fists, even though Sam was not the one hitting.

Sam opens his eyes. Lucifer and Gabriel sit still, so deathly still that it gives away their inhumanity more than anything else.

“No.”

They vanish. Sam collapses against the backrest of the booth, shaking. He takes out his cellphone and presses the speed dial number one.  
 _“Sammy?”_

“Help.”

 

Dean is furious, of course he is. First Cas remains vanished, and now two rogue archangels are after his little brother. Again. Both of them always liked messing with Sammy too much for Dean’s taste, but this new angle is even more unsettling, because what they actually want is so unclear.

Sam doesn’t say that Dean’s rage doesn’t help, and he doesn’t tell him what he barely admits to himself. That’s obviously a mistake, because they always crash and burn as soon as they are not honest with each other, Sam knows it, but he can’t. He cannot tell Dean what eats away at him when Dean barely sleeps three hours a night, looking for Cas.

He does not tell Dean when the dreams become a regular thing. They are never his usual nightmares, messes of monsters and hell and various buried childhood traumas. No, they’re darker than that now, but at the same time easier to bear, annoyingly so. Sam dreams in sensations now, lips on his, on every part of him, groans and whispers, arms holding him down, the sound of wings and the faintest brush of warm feathers over his back. They don’t let him out of the dreams either, not until he at least acknowledges them, by rage or lust and often a mix of both that manages to wake him. If he wakes, he always has to take a shower before he can go back to bed, jacking of and viciously enforcing an emptiness of thoughts in his head while he does so.

Dean notices his new habit of midnight showers, but doesn’t comment on it. When the dreams follow him into his room at the bunker even though Sam spent the evening angel-warding it, _he stands in the familiar room with the gigantic bed, black sheets tonight, and considers sleeping pills._

_“That’s cheating.” Someone whispers against his neck. It’s Gabriel’s voice, but he has adopted the body of Benjamin from Sam’s senior year, who had an obsession over H.P. Lovecraft’s books that they bonded over, and who was Sam’s first kiss with a man._

_During the last four weeks, Gabriel and Lucifer have gone through all of Sam’s sexual partners and fantasies at least once, varying in settings, combinations, length and detail, but never in intensity._

_“Please leave me alone.” Sam says, keeping the desperation out of his voice for what it’s worth._

_“You know, if you told us where that hideout of yours is, we could do something about that frustration of yours…” Lucifer is lounging on the bed in all of Nick’s naked glory, although Sam presumes that it’s Lucifer’s actual human form, now that God recreated them. The man it’s formed after is dead for sure._

_“You always get caught up in the unsexy details.” Gabriel complains and with admirable dexterity manages to manually open Sam’s jeans from behind him despite the fact that Sam is pushing his arms away, which only results in his jeans being shoved down quicker. At least this time, he’s wearing boxers, even if they have a hideous pink leopard muster on them. Sam is 70% certain that Gabriel created them to fuel his desire to take them off. He takes a step away as soon as the mojo allows him to move, grateful for the opportunity to hastily pull his jeans back up, even though he almost falls flat on his face in the process. In his own dream. Only it isn’t his anymore, is it? He should probably be grateful that they haven’t done anything worse than putting him into various states of undress until now, but Sam dreads the night that they realize he is never going to do anything unless they make him do it._

_“Gee, Sam. You make it sound like we’re planning to dream-rape you.” Gabriel says, looking seriously hurt and offended, and Sam can’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. “That’s what you’re basically doing by even_ being _here!”_

_“We would never hurt you.” Lucifer says, earnest and sweet at the same time, and Sam hates how a part of him wants to hear it so badly._

_“You know.” Gabriel is apparently tired of Benjamin and shifts into his real form, a whole head smaller and a Milky Way bar in hand, watching Sam as he chews. “This is a chance for you. All your permanent lovers died. Why not try dating someone a little harder to kill?”_

_“I’m not into homicidal egomaniacs.” Sam growls through gritted teeth and Lucifer crooks his head. “Are you one hundred percent sure about that?” He strokes his cock lazily and no, Sam is not sure, because for all his dignity’s worth, he can’t tear his eyes from the movement._

_“Wanna hear a theory?” Gabriel chatters as if the Devil wasn’t masturbating five feet from him, cool burning eyes fixed on the bulge in Sam’s jeans. “If you weren’t so intriguingly stubborn, we would not find you so tempting. Of course there is the fact that you faced off both of us and won in one way or another, which by all accounts should have been impossible, making you a contradiction anyways, but-”_

_“Stop.” Sam begs, trying his hardest to wake up; and bounces into a feeling of warm tongues licking his neck instead, as he struggles against the grace that ties him into this dream._

_“No sleeping pills.” Lucifer says, eyes dark as he watches Sam shudder. “We deserve at least that much.”_

_“You deserve a kick in the nuts.” Sam growls, because it’s true, and Gabriel laughs. “Invite us over and we’ll see what we can do.”_

_“Go fuck yourself.” Sam is losing patience rapidly, rookie mistake, really, because now a clone of Gabriel is doing exactly what Sam just asked._

_“If you take sleeping pills, we will look for you in the awake realm, and we_ will _find you.” Lucifer promises. “We will not hurt anyone, but your absence might be a little harder to explain to your brother than awkward erections at night, don’t you think?”_

 _Sam groans when he imagines what those two would come up with in the real world. With any other monster he knows, a dreamscape has by far the wider range of opportunities, but for those two, it is all but a refined way of creating blueprints for what they could actually do in reality, and Sam is not about to bring that down on anyone in his immediate vicinity. “No sleeping pills.” He says, biting out the words, and Lucifer smiles, his voice the definition of_ sinful _. “Good Boy.”_

Sam wakes.

 

“I need your help.”

Kevin looks up at Sam slightly surprised and with a sardonic snort. “Never heard that one before.”

Sam sighs as he sits down at the main room table next to him and feels an abundance of regret for Kevin. They dragged him into this, but then again, none of them ever really had a choice about it. It still makes him angry and sad to see how cynical the kid has become. “How far along are you with the demon tablet?”

“I translated about a quarter, maybe.” Kevin replies.

“Could you interrupt that to help me research in the library?” Sam asks and Kevin looks at him, faint wariness lacing his surprise. “What happened to the war on Crowley?”

“We need to get Cas first.” Sam replies, shoulders dropping slightly. “I know Dean tries to act like he’s alright…”

“But he’s not. Yeah, I’m not blind, Sam. So, what are we gonna do?”

“There is a whole section of the library about angels. More than we can read in years.” Sam replies. “We need a way to get Cas out of heaven. A really strong summoning spell.”

Kevin nods and crooks his head. “And what else do you want me to look for?”

Sam bites his lip and notices the way Kevin is watching him attentively, and he knows that Dean and Kevin have been talking about him. He sighs. “You noticed.”

“Not exactly what, but yes. It’s hard to miss that something is bothering you.” Kevin says carefully, and Sam nods, tight lipped. “I need a sigil, a spell, anything, to keep angels out of my head. The stronger, the better.”

“Dreams?” Kevin guesses and Sam nods curtly.

“Have you told Dean?”

“He knows.”

“Not exactly. He’s just worried.” Kevin gives back. “Is there reason to worry?”

Sam groans. _Two archangels are turning my mind into Casa Erotica every night. I don’t know if that’s worrisome._ “No.”

“What are they about? And do you know who we’re warding against?” Kevin asks, blatantly disregarding Sam’s obvious discomfort at talking about the matter.

“Two archangels.” He grits out and Kevin looks at him sharply. “Gabriel and Lucifer.” The prophet clarifies and Sam nods once.

“Are they torturing you?”

Sam wants to say yes, because it’s the easier answer and it wouldn’t be questioned, it’s completely believable, but he can’t bring himself to, because it would be a lie. “No. Just…”

“What are they doing then?” Kevin asks and Sam closes his eyes. “You really don’t want to know.”

Kevin looks at him and then sighs. “You know, in a parallel universe I graduated Harvard with honors and a degree in politic science about a month ago.”

“Please don’t tell Dean.”

Kevin snorts. “Sure. I’ll leave that to you.”

 

 

There is a weird death in an abandoned hunting cabin in northern Montana. Cas is on Dean’s mind every waking moment, but saving people, hunting things is still the family business. So Sam and Dean take the three days’ drive into the nearest town and by the time they arrive, something killed two hiking teenagers on a weekend trip. The corpses, one old alcoholic deer hunter and one young couple, students of the local high school, prove that this case is definitely the Winchester kind of weird, but when they bluff their way into the autopsy room, it is nothing that they’ve ever seen before.

Both the old man and the seventeen year old boy are scorched from the inside, like electrocution, only with more actual fire, leaving their intestines in literal ashes, while the girl, from the look of it, clawed her own eyes out and then proceeded to ram a blunt branch through her heart.

 

“Whatever this is, it’s got some form of mind control.” Dean says, looking at the corpses with barely contained nausea, and Sam lifts an eyebrow, sending him a glance that says ‘You think?’ clearer than any snort could.

 

“We probably shouldn’t go into the woods until we know what we’re dealing with.” He agrees. They split up then, Dean to issue a warning to hikers with the local police and rangers and to call Garth and Kevin for tips, and Sam to the local library.

 

He is two hours into research and has successfully ruled out any ghost or demon; and has just started cataloging the several monsters with affinity for fire and mind-control, when someone leans over him.

“You need to look at the season, Sammy.”

 

It’s all he can do not to scream as he jumps up, his chair falling over, and Lucifer takes a step back with raised hands, grinning at him. “There, there, no reason to panic.”

 

Sam’s heart is racing and he breathes heavily, and from the odd looks people are giving him, he figures that the archangel is invisible. With shaking hands, he picks up the chair and sits down again, and Lucifer sits down on the table next to Sam’s laptop and watches him curiously. “Whatever happened to that serene calmness?”

 

 _Go away!_ He tries very much to shout the thought, not caring what emotions accompany it, and Lucifer frowns. “Oh come on, now, Sam. Talk to me. I’m bored.”

 

The overwhelming, nauseous sense of déjà-vu drains all strength out of Sam’s body, and he clutches his hand, the old, faded scar and _presses_ instinctively, and it does not help one bit.

 

“Sam?” There is something like concern in Lucifer’s face, but that’s impossible, because the Devil does not care about him, not like that, and all Sam can think is _Not again. Not again. Please, not again._

 

“Show me.” Lucifer orders in a tone of voice that strikes every chord there is in Sam, and Sam doesn’t even think, he just obeys, recalling all the memories of his hallucinations, what it feels like not to sleep for seven days straight, the reason for his now eternal hatred for firecrackers and why he has to turn off the radio anytime the Everly Brothers are played.

 

“I see.” Lucifer says, and with a faint flutter of invisible wings, a soft gust of air rushing to fill the sudden vacuum, he is gone.

 

Sam spends ten minutes blankly staring at his laptop until he remembers he is supposed to do research, but after he reads the same paragraph for the fourth time without even recalling what its general topic is, he gives up and rises to get coffee. The obviously gay, young librarian winks and promises to watch his laptop, and while on any other day Sam would make the effort to take it with him, right now, he just doesn’t care. There is a small, cozy bakery across the library and he orders the biggest latte macchiato they have and a blueberry muffin because he suddenly has the strong feeling that he should heighten his blood sugar so he does not faint.

 

Five minutes later, Sam sits on a small park bench a short walk from the library, staring at his phone and fighting the strong urge to call Dean. He knows he should not be surprised- Gabriel and Lucifer made their interest more than clear. From their continued inquiries about the location of the Men of Letters’ bunker he concluded some time ago that locating him when he’s there has to be more difficult for them. And this is the first time he and Dean have been away from the bunker for more than two days during the last three weeks. He really should have expected them to drop in.

 

It does not lessen the shock.

 

Wings flutter next to him, and Gabriel clicks his tongue. “Damn it, Samsquatch.”

 

Sam does not honor that with a response. Instead he takes a long gulp of the coffee, the bitter taste familiar and calming and anything is better than thinking about what just happened while an archangel is listening in on his head. Again.

 

“Don’t strain yourself. Luci told me.” Gabriel says wryly. Sam remains quiet. Gabriel sighs. “You know, I watched the cage being built.”

 

Sam sends him a sharp glance, but Gabriel’s eyes are serious for once, and he continues to talk. “When Dad ordered Luce to be confined, well, that was somewhat of a problem. We’re not easily contained, as I’m sure you can imagine. I was already MIA then, but I couldn’t help but sneak in on the construction site. None of us could.”

 

_I don’t want to hear this._

 

“Sorry Sam, but I’m afraid you have to. Not for some agenda or seduction. This is about doing right by you.”

 

Sam closes his eyes and with all his heart wishes that Gabriel would not talk about him like an illegitimate child in a regency romance movie adaption, and Gabriel can’t help the amused snort.

“You’re a bit of a drama queen. Anyone ever told you that?”

 

“Talk.” Sam says sternly. Since he’s not getting out of this, he might as well get it over with.

 

“The cage was planned and constructed to hold one archangel. Due to the nature of our true form, it was not exactly what you would call ‘spacious’. When you took control over your body back and dragged Luce and Michael back into the pit with you, two archangels were confined into a space that barely fit one.” Gabriel meets his eyes, and there is this weird empathy again, the same he had had when he’d explained the Mystery Spot lesson to Sam, the one that always makes Sam doubt Gabriel’s complete inhumanity. “Think two nuclear bombs inside a room the size of your average broom closet. And that’s not the worst of it. Because when you arrived in the cage and the door was thrown shut again, you were still in control. And you said ‘no’, kicking Luce’s sorry ass right out of your pretty body.”

 

“Could you sound any more creepy?” Sam says mechanically, while he takes in what Gabriel tells him. _How come I don’t remember a piece of this?_

 

“Well gee, it couldn’t be that two archangels’ graces at war, in a cage at the bottom of hell might be a tiny bit too much for your human soul?” Gabriel rolls his eyes and then leers at the blueberry muffin. “You eating that?”

Sam hands it over despite the fact that he has barely taken two bites out of it, and Gabriel makes a ridiculously cute happy noise when he indulges in the treat. Sam drinks another sip of coffee.

 

“You know, he doesn’t talk about it, but I’m pretty certain he tried to convince you to let him back in. It would have been the only way to protect you.” Gabriel remarks, casually, easy, and Sam feels the very distant need to scream in rage.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, though. If you had allowed him back in, Cassie couldn’t have snatched your body and Death couldn’t have zapped your soul out.”

 

“How is this supposed to make me feel?”

 

Gabriel shrugs. “However you want to, I guess. You just need to know that my brother made you a promise not to hurt you. He never did that for anyone, in the entirety of his existence. Not even in the very beginning. I can vouch for that.”

 

“Can you leave me to think?”

 

“Sure thing, Samsquatch. See you around.” The trickster winks and leaves. Sam relaxes slightly and finishes his coffee, only to find that the pasteboard cup is filled to the brim again. The liquid has the exact right temperature to drink, hot but not tongue-torchingly so, and there is a faint note of hazelnut and caramel in it that blends perfectly with the roasting flavor of what Sam is pretty certain is not ordinary drip brew. He should leave the cup in the trashcan next to the bench, but he takes his back to his seat in the library instead.

 

When he reactivates his laptop, there is an extra tab opened in his browser that wasn’t there before. It’s a Wikipedia article about Samodiva, Bulgarian monsters that come in the form of beautiful blonde women, seduce men by singing and dancing to steal their life-force, are active during spring and summer, have an affinity for fire and are said to drive women into suicide with jealousy. Sam stares at it for a long moment. Then he closes his eyes, thinks a curt, grudging _Thank You_ , because he was raised right, and then he takes out his cell and calls Dean.

“A fucking Veela? What is this, frenchie Hogwarts?”

“The school is called Beauxbatons, and I don’t think what we’re looking for has many similarities with Fleur Delacour.”

“Alright. So what do we do?”

“It says here to cut and burn the hair, and to wear thyme and earplugs to protect ourselves from her song.”

“Alright. Let’s torch that bitch.”

They torch the bitch, with a few problems when Dean isn’t fast enough with the earplugs and follows the hot chick into a clearing, but Sam makes it there in time and while Dean manages not to kiss her, cuts the monster’s long, silver blonde hair with Ruby’s knife which is made of blessed steel, so it works. The Samodiva twists into something birdlike with a beak when she goes up in flames, and she burns like cinder, her ashes immediately dissolved in the wind. Dean and Sam make it back to their hotel, tired and with a few bumps and second degree burns, but it’s nothing they can’t handle. Before they go to sleep, because he has to talk to someone and because Dean needs to know that two archangels know their location, Sam tells him about the library. Dean all but rips him a new one for not telling him immediately, but he understands in the end, and Sam feels better when he’s done talking, like some weight is lifted of his chest he hasn’t even known was there.

That night, Sam does not dream. He wakes in the morning, feeling better rested than in a very long time, and when he goes into the bathroom he realizes it is partly because all his burn wounds are healed, without a trace of a scar on his skin. So are Dean’s, and they don’t talk about it, the glance they share when Sam steps out of the bathroom basically saying it all. They simply pay the motel, get coffee, ward the Impala’s roof, hood and back with Enochian written in blood, and get the hell out of dodge.

 

Kevin finds a way to summon Cas out of heaven. They perform the incredibly complicated, three hour long ritual in an abandoned warehouse in a small town somewhere in Kansas.

Castiel tries to kill Dean on sight.

He is fighting hard with himself obviously, screaming at the dubious Naomi the whole time while he flings them across the room, and Sam is just contemplating whether Cas will really kill them and if Gabriel or Lucifer would save him if he asked nicely, and what that would cost and whether they would let Cas live.  Thank God Dean manages to light the circle of holy oil around their schizophrenic guardian angel and Cas paces; muttering, groaning and yelling in Enochian, and then he looks at Dean, pure desperation in his eyes, and lunges right into the flames with Dean’s name on his lips. Just before the holy fire touches him, Sam activates the banishing sigil and with a flash, their angel is gone again, and Dean tries and fails to hide how broken he is.

“Cas.” he whispers and sinks to his knees. And Sam knows then, he knows that if he wants Dean whole, he has to find a way to redeem Castiel. He loves the angel like a brother, but for Dean, it’s more than that, always has been and always will be. The codependent duo has become a threesome, one that does not go all the way, but effectively dooms them nonetheless.

“We can help.”

Sam flinches and turns around to Gabriel and Lucifer, who step out of the shadow of the warehouse cautiously, as if they had any reason to be afraid of Sam. A quick glance at Dean tells him that his brother has not seen or heard anything, and his eyes harden.

_What do you want?_

“You.” Lucifer smirks. “And we’re offering our little brother in return.”

 _Castiel will be completely free. No way for anyone to manipulate him?_ Sam is thinking so fast that he has no time to worry about his new trust in Cas or the fatal need to save Dean from himself; or even his disturbing willingness to make a deal with two _beings_ he avoided at all costs for four weeks, if it means his family will be safe. Not to speak of the fact that he is implying his trust that Gabriel and Lucifer would definitely keep their end of a bargain up.

“Yes.” Gabriel answers both his question about Cas and the undercurrent of half-conscious thoughts.

Sam takes the time of three breaths to go over any other options, any way to bust Cas out of heaven, but there is none, and Cas is fighting as hard as he can already. He looks at his brother, who is still on his knees and struggling not to coil into himself completely.

Sam’s shoulders relax. “Dean.”

His tone is warm and reassuring and determined, and Dean looks at him so hopefully. Sam pulls him to his feet. “I have a way to get Cas back.”

“What?” Dean asks, voice rough and low. “How?”

Sam _feels_ the reality behind him flickering, and then Dean’s eyes widen and then narrow, and the angel blade is in his hand when he pulls Sam behind him. “No.”

“Yes. We can’t leave Cas like that.” Sam says and Dean growls against the truth. “You’re not selling your soul. We’re not starting that shit again.”

“We don’t want Sam’s soul. Not in the way you’re thinking of.” Lucifer supplies helpfully and the angel blade in Dean’s hand twitches. “No.”

“Dean. They are the only ones with the juice to oppose Raphael and Michael.” Sam says low and urgently. “The fact that they’re even offering this is a miracle.” He is entirely too eager for this to happen, Sam knows, and he silently prays that Dean won’t notice, and that in turn makes the winkles of Gabriel’s lips twitch.

“No it’s not. It just means they need you so badly for whatever they’re up to that they got no other choice.” Dean replies sharply.

“We are not planning anything.” Gabriel says, a hint of irritation in his voice and Dean snorts. “Yeah right, an archangel and Satan hanging out together, going after Satan’s true vessel, just for shits and giggles.”

“I don’t need a vessel anymore. The resurrection provided me with one.” Lucifer says coldly.

 They are not planning anything. Sam knows it. Worse, Gabriel and Lucifer _know_ that Sam knows it. And really, just by looking at his brother, Sam sees that he has no choice. Team Free Will leaves him without another option, ironically. Lucifer meets his eyes and sighs. “We want Sam to be happy.”

Also the truth, creepy and disturbing as it is. This is not about what Sam wants, though. He is about to formulate an explicit thought of consent, a thought so that Dean can’t stop him, when Gabriel snaps his fingers and they find themselves sitting in a classy restaurant, at a table set for five, four of the seats taken.

“Let’s negotiate terms and conditions.” Gabriel says, somehow displeased, and Sam should not be so aware that ‘unusually stern’ is far from Gabriel’s default mode, but he is. That same moment, he notices that everyone is wearing exquisitely tailored tuxes. He raises an eyebrow at Gabriel when Dean huffs in annoyance and the Trickster smirks, but Sam has always been good at remaining focused in stressful situations, so he asks: “What is there to negotiate?”

“Sammy, no.” there is so much pain in Dean’s voice. “You are not whoring yourself out for Cas.”

“Indeed he’s not.” Lucifer agrees smoothly and Sam looks at him. “What am I doing then?”

“You’re giving us a chance for redemption.” Gabriel says, _earnestly_ , and Sam knows that they can read the hysterical laughter he is effortlessly suppressing. “I think I need you to be a little more concrete in your expectations.”

“We want you to talk to us. We want you to allow yourself to have real conversations with us. We want an opportunity to acquire your forgiveness.” Lucifer says. He’s the father of sin, he knows everything about temptation, so he also knows that this is was Sam really wanted from the moment they sought Sam out in that diner. He is offering Sam a way to do it, too, a way that leaves Sam’s conscience completely unsullied, and this is all so completely and utterly fucked up.

“Wait. Are you talking to them regularly?” Dean asks Sam and Sam sighs, meeting his brother’s eyes in a silent plea for forgiveness.

“The dreams?” Dean guesses and Sam doesn’t even need to nod for confirmation. And he really is sorry, Dean knows that, just as Sam knows by the lack of shouting that Dean is silently grateful for it, because this is starting to look like their only shot at getting back Cas.

“We want to be friends.” Lucifer says, and he sounds so trustable, Sam snorts, catching Gabriel’s eyes and resisting the urge to roll his own.

“Nothing else?” Dean asks warily, because this is too good to be true and because he still has no clue how messed up Sam truly is.

“Nothing else unless Sam gives his permission.” Gabriel gives back grinning, leaving out all fake pretense, and Sam deliberately keeps himself from formulating any articulated thought for a very long moment, because he is so tense that he isn’t sure Gabriel or Lucifer wouldn’t act on it.

“What do you say, Sam?” Lucifer asks, eyes boring into his.

Sam looks at Gabriel and then at Lucifer again, and then at Dean. Dean who is tearing apart under the guilt of wanting this. “It’s okay.” Sam mutters, meeting his eyes with the hesitant admission. “I’m okay with this.” The confession makes Dean’s eyes widen as Sam turns back to the two angels.

“Yes.”

Sam blinks and finds himself in his motel room, Gabriel and Lucifer sitting on the couch, Dean nowhere in sight. The TV is running and there is takeout on the couch table.

“What’s with the fancy restaurant?” He asks frowning.

“I thought Dean-o and Cassie deserve a nice first official date.” Gabriel waggles his eyebrows and Sam sighs. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.” Gabriel shoots back and Sam feels his lips quirk, because now he cannot lie to himself any more. He goes to sink down on the couch next to Lucifer who hands him a box of salad without comment. It’s too easy, way too easy to just fall in line and go along with his archangels’ whims. His archangels? Sam groans softly and Gabriel laughs. “It’s okay, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sam gives back and wonders where this is going to end. While he opens the salad box and watches Timmy Turner’s fairies fight antiCosmo - Gabriel’s choice of program, Sam just knows it- Lucifer strokes his neck, and then his back in one gentle, confident movement. “This is ending wherever you want it to.” Lucifer says. “Castiel is free now. We’re not holding him for ransom.”

They are not, because they know Sam is just as bound to his word as they are, although due to entirely different reasons.

“I need more time than that.” Sam presses, barely daring to breathe until Lucifer stops touching him, and Lucifer just nods and leans back, and then they watch cartoons and Sam eats his salad until Castiel and Dean pop into the room, tangled in each other, kissing and panting.

“Way to go, Cassie!” Gabriel cheers and they jump apart. Dean’s eyes find Sam’s and recognize the complete and utter lack of surprise there for what it is.

 _You knew?_ Dean asks silently, Sam can almost hear the thought. He smiles. _Of course, and I’m happy for you._ He glances at Cas in an obvious way. _Don’t waste anymore time._

 _Thank you._ The gratefulness in Dean’s eyes fills Sam with relief, floods him with warmth.

“Sam. I owe you my life.” Castiel says in his gravelly voice.

“It’s okay, man.” Sam gives back and notices Cas’ uncomfortable look at the two elephants- er, archangels in the room.

“We’re just hanging out with Sam.” Gabriel announces cheerfully. “Would you rather like me to provide you a room or should we leave here?”

“Are you going to let Sam stay with us?” Dean asks and Lucifer shrugs. “Entirely up to him. We want him happy, so obviously separating him from you won’t do.”

“The question is how much the newlyweds can stand us popping in and out on you.” Gabriel says to Sam who glances at Dean and then smiles despite himself. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Cas and Dean both recognize that sentence, but Sam continues, a sense of well-earned mischief rising inside him. “Can we give them some privacy for the night?”

Dean makes a strangled noise of embarrassment and protest, but Gabriel grins widely. “Sure.”

With a snap of his fingers, Sam finds himself in a completely different room. It is big and the couch he is sitting on is made of white leather. A white flokati is covering a dark hardwood floor in front of a steel fireplace and the walls are windows, really, looking out onto a really beautiful nighttime skyline of a big, bustling city.

“Singapore.” Lucifer supplies without having to be asked. Sam nods. “Does Gabriel have a thing for the Far East?”

“Incidentally.” The trickster steps out of thin air to stand in front of the window, nose almost pressed against the glass, and Sam thinks that this loft in a skyscraper is a very appropriate housing for two archangels, however far they may claim to have fallen.

“Why are you so special?” Lucifer is behind him in a heartbeat, arms on the backrest of the couch, his face almost buried in Sam’s hair, but not actually touching him. Sam doesn’t dare to move, to breathe. _I don’t know._

“You really don’t. This is maddening in so many ways.” Gabriel sighs and then he is kneeling in front of Sam, and for fuck’s sake, Sam has the biggest body in this room, he should not feel crowded by someone two heads smaller than him who is kneeling, but he does and Lucifer is still behind him, and he really needs to find a way to keep them from reading his thoughts because this is getting embarrassing. Gabriel stares at him, his irises molten gold. “You said you need more time. How long.”

“I don’t know.” Sam says again, and he’s waiting for one of them to question if there is anything he actually does know, but they don’t.

“There is one thing you should be aware of, Sam Winchester.” Lucifer says, with a voice like ice tea on a hot summer day. “We won’t force you to do or feel anything, but we _will_ use every power at our disposal to seduce you. We _want_ you.”

“Why me?” Sam whispers, shivering; and they’ve been here before, but at the same time it’s not just a déjà-vu of their first, fucked-up pre-apocalyptic tête-à-tête. It’s about much more than simple possession right now.

“Cause it had to be you Sam. It always had to be you.” Lucifer stays true to the script. Gabriel doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re ours. We both want you, we’re tired of fighting, and we’re archangels, which means we get what we want. Do the math.”

“That’s not what I was asking. _Why me_?”

“I have no idea.” Lucifer admits, voice all warm honey now. “But if you had been born to different parents, if your lineage weren’t Winchester and Campbell, if you had never known anything about us at all, you would still be the only human we could want like that.”

A peculiar feeling uncurls in Sam as the words take root, an itch, an inclination that his skin, his body is too small for him, that he’ll burst with tension if he remains like this. So he jumps up, and in three heartbeats puts a whole room of distance between himself an them, leaning against the thin glass of the window, because 96 storeys of abyss and smog in his back feel safer than being caught in that intensity.

“Time.” He breathes the plea and Gabriel nods, a slow grin creeping over his face because Sam is not declining them outright, even though he could, it’s not a part of their agreement, and Sam knows he probably should.

“Wanna crash on our couch tonight?” Gabriel offers with a wink, and Sam finds himself nodding. This is what skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute must feel like, he notes at the back of his mind, throwing all caution overboard. Sleeping in Lucifer’s and Gabriel’s loft. Sam has done many stupid things in his time, few of them as outrageously reckless as that, and he can’t bring himself to care even the tiniest bit as Gabriel snaps on the TV over the fireplace. Spongebob is on, and Sam walks back to the couch like some form of gravity is pulling him there. He settles down a handbreadth from Lucifer, and Gabriel lets himself fall down on Sam’s other side. Both of them are very carefully not watching him, which does absolutely nothing to help Sam because he still feels that he is their focus of attention, but now he has to get used to it and he appreciates the effort. _Maybe the novelty will wear off._ A small, hopeful voice in the back of his head suggests.

“Unlikely.” Lucifer comments, smirk on his lips, but Sam is not going to reward that constant intrusion of his privacy with an answer.

Sometime later, approaching midnight if Sam’s feeling for time is worth anything, he feels the tiredness of four weeks’ worth searching for Cas finally creeping up on him. He is just wondering how to best ask Gabriel for his bag so he can get ready for sleeping, when something changes. A glance down his body shows him that yes indeed, he is in his sleeping shirt and boxers, and further inquisition leads to that faint minty taste he always has in his mouth after brushing his teeth.

“Dude!”

Gabriel shrugs. “Human things are so boring.”

Sam can’t help but feel slightly violated still, and he takes a deep, calming breath. “First off, don’t do that without my permission. Second, I like getting ready for bed. It helps me set my mind at ease.”

“Alright, no mojo hygiene without your green light.” Gabriel winks at him and Sam has to concentrate on the scowl, because he very much wants to smile and Lucifer laughs, ever so softly. It’s a strange sound, light, happy and unfamiliar, a sound the universe did not expect to be possible. Sam wants to hear it again. _I’m so fucked._

Neither of them takes the obvious chance for a quip or suggestive comment, and Sam is grateful. He relaxes against the back of the couch completely, and the next time he blinks, a black, warm, incredibly soft blanket is draped over his legs. _I really shouldn’t trust you._

The cartoons ramble on in the background of Sam’s slowing thoughts and he lets his eyelids drop.

 

Sam wakes, finding his head in Lucifer’s lap and his legs draped over Gabriel’s. Lucifer is stroking his hair and Sam groans when he sits up, blinking into the morning light. A thought occurs to him. “Wait. We’re on the other side of the world. But we left at night and arrived at night here…”

“We switched back ten hours.” Gabriel explains cheerfully. “Don’t worry, we’ll return you punctually to your brother.”

“Why would you do that?” Sam asks confused and Gabriel winks at him. “Because we can.”

Oh. Two archangels casually snapped him through time, doubtlessly breaking countless rules at once, out of consideration for Sam’s biorhythm. That is more concern than Sam has given himself in a long time, and it feels weird until he wonders whether they also spent the whole night on the couch, watching him sleep.

“You know what they say about rules.” Lucifer chuckles and Sam rolls his eyes. “I know that’s what you think about rules.” He gets up, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms, acknowledging the fact that a couch in an archangel loft is more comfy than 99 % of all beds he ever slept in with a wry smile. “Can I catch a quick shower?”

“Sure. Water pressure here is definitely better than any motel.” Gabriel smirks suggestively and Sam vanishes into the bathroom he is pointed towards. After the shower, there are his clothes from yesterday waiting for him, folded on the counter. They are freshly washed and smell of his favourite softener, the one Dean never buys because the label has pink writing. So alright, being wooed by archangels definitely has benefits once you get over the whole stalkery part of it. Sam steps out into the living room, which is empty, and walks through the loft, wondering whether he took too long and they got bored and left him here.

A loud, obnoxious snort at that notion reproves him and he follows it into the kitchen where- Sam closes his mouth and remains standing in the doorway, and there is that urge to laugh loud and hysterically again. Lucifer is standing at the stove, making pancakes. This is Sam’s life now.

“You don’t like mojo.” Gabriel explains with a grin and a shrug and Sam shakes his head, as if insanity were that easy to get rid of. “Yeah. You are… This is very kind. Thank you. For letting me crash on your couch and breakfast.” He is not blushing. No fucking way.

“Sit.” Gabriel says and Sam simply does as he is told. Gabriel takes out dishes and cutlery and then sugar and nutella and about twenty different kinds of jam, and he pours Sam a big glass of the most delicious orange juice he’s ever had and Sam is completely and utterly overwhelmed by it. Lucifer puts a positively gigantic mountain of pancakes on the table and they begin eating- Lucifer slow and out of politeness, obviously, because he makes the most peculiar faces at the human food while Gabriel urges both of them to try every single sort of jam and then several combinations. Sam eats until he knows for sure that he’s going to puke if he swallows so much as one more crumb, and then him and Lucifer just watch Gabriel as he stuffs himself happily, telling them in detail about the origins of jam recipes and pancake-like meals throughout the history of mankind in between bites.

 _Domestic_ is the word that comes to mind and it’s ridiculous, because the only kind of domesticity Sam has ever had were those brief days with Dean when they discovered the bunker first, and he knows that nothing of the kind can ever last, because that’s the nature of the Winchester curse.

“It could last, if you allowed it to.” Gabriel points out, switching seamlessly from pfannekuchen to psychoanalysis.

“I don’t know if I want it to.” Sam replies. “People I –like tend to get hurt when I settle down. It’s fate.”

“Fate’s a little bitch.” Gabriel snorts and Sam chuckles. “So I’ve been told by Cas.”

“Let her try.” Lucifer smirks. “There is nothing in this world that you can’t have, Sam.”

Satan is offering him everything, the second time in Sam’s life, and again, Sam doesn’t want anything. Dean is alive, Cas is well, everybody else Sam ever considered family is gone. “I’m good.”

“Oh, you have no idea how much.” Gabriel mumbles, but then he is grinning again. “So, wanna go wake the honeymooners?”

“Sure.” Sam actually smirks, because despite all the angel business and the general state of uproar heaven, earth and hell are in, he is still Dean’s little brother, and some universal laws never change.

Dean and Cas are still mostly asleep, tangled up in the sheets, and Cas flips Gabriel off without so much as a second thought when the trickster unloads about a metric ton of rice, confetti, flowers and anything else people all over the world throw at just married couples coming out of churches, onto Dean’s bed.

“Goddamnit, Sammy, tell them to leave us alone.” Dean whines and he notices the wide grin on his face, the one Sam hasn’t felt since before he jumped into the cage with Lucifer inside him. “It’s nine a.m. Time to rise and shine.” He says and effortlessly ducks the pillow Dean throws. It hits the wall and startles the doves that were sitting on the curtain rail into flight.

“How about we go and get some coffee.” Lucifer suggests with a mirthful smile on his lips and really, if Satan is the one taking pity, that’s probably enough mockery, though it also might be some weird older-brother sympathy. Sam shrugs anyway and is promptly zapped into the nearest Coffee shop, nobody apparently noticing the three people that just popped up at the front of the line. He rolls his eyes, because he is fairly certain that cutting lines in Starbucks rip offs is not what archangel powers were intended for, but he orders anyways, and then Gabriel and Lucifer draw him into a conversation about cartoons and archetypes and human art, and it is so easy to fall into the discussion because Lucifer has the evidently sharpest intellect in the universe and Gabriel is the personification of wit. Sam really forgets that he is talking to supernatural beings for a substantial amount of time because it feels like he is having coffee with friends from college, which leads him to the realization that he would have wanted to be friends with both Lucifer and Gabriel if the circumstances of meeting them had born any trace of a semblance of normalcy. And then Dean calls him, and Sam remembers who he is having coffee with. Come to think of it, his cup hasn’t emptied despite the fact that a glance at the clock confirms he just spent over an hour chatting with the Devil and the official Messenger of God™, and Gabriel sends him a rueful smile. “So, same time tomorrow?”

There are a lot of things Sam could say right now, but he simply nods, and with the next blink, Gabriel and Lucifer are gone and Sam rises to pick up a latte for Dean before he walks back to the motel.

_Redemption. What archangels want, they get._

Dean, Sam and Cas spend the day driving back to the bunker, and once they’re there, Kevin announces that he has found something interesting on their half of the demon tablet, something about shutting down hell that makes Cas frown, but it’s still very unclear and they look for hunts instead because apparently now that they have Cas back, the old itch to keep moving sets back in, and with their angel in the cabin-baggage, hunting monsters is not much of a problem.

There’s a werewolf in Missouri and Sam and Gabriel spend an evening teaching Lucifer poker, because the game is only a little over 200 years old and Lucifer didn’t feel like trying human games the last time he walked earth, and Sam refuses to bet any article of clothing because they don’t manage to go one round without cheating. A wendigo snacks on hikers around lake Michigan and the fucker is moving every other month, and while they track him, Gabriel starts teaching Sam Enochian monster wards that even Castiel doesn’t recognize. When they find the bastard and Cas smites him, Lucifer pops in on them and with a snap of his fingers heals the two surviving victims and sets them asleep. A witch coven in New York city targets wall street bankers that make money on stocks of child labor and arms deals, and when they try to hemorrhage the shit out of Dean, they have to kill them except for the token hesitant, shy, remorseful girl who will never be the same again. Gabriel is skeptical and Lucifer amused when they let her go, and they have a long and philosophical discussion about forgiveness.

Meanwhile Dean and Cas are fucking like bunnies the whole time. Sam is really quite happy for them, and  Gabriel and Lucifer pop in on Sam almost every day, so he’s not particularly lonely per say, but watching his brother and his soulmate- Dean’s disgusted face at the use of the word is completely worth being called a girl- is somewhat agonizing, too, because even though he wants to, Sam cannot imagine that he will ever end up in a similar arrangement. He’s just not that lucky. Gabriel and Lucifer take to making Sam and occasionally Dean laugh during the day, dropping helpful hints on hunts and making a game out of confusing Cas about human things.  At night, they dangle fantasies in front of Sam’s nose he never could have dreamed up by himself and are content with his awareness that all he has to do to make them come true is ask, but Sam doesn’t, because there is something still amiss inside him. And so Sam stubbornly refuses to give in to his cravings, all that want that is slowly impounding behind the barrier of his self-control.

There are a number of pranks, too- one day Cas and Dean bring back their laundry and all of Dean’s plaid shirts are pink or rainbow coloured while Sam finds himself out of any jeans that don’t have a drainpipe cut. In a roadside hunter’s bar, two hunters who recognize and antagonize the Winchester brothers find themselves hitting on an irresistible barmaid with caramel eyes who winks at Sam before she goes outside. Sam feels a violent, hot hatred surging through him when the two hunters rise up and follow her, but Lucifer’s cool hand on his wrist prevents him from going after them, and when he reads about an exotic sex accident involving two men, some bizarre bdsm contraption and resulting paraplegia in both cases the next day, he finds that he can’t argue with the just desserts this time around. And a few days later, Dean and him return from getting takeout to find Gabriel and Lucifer introducing Castiel to hentai yaoi porn, and after Cas zaps a sputtering Dean into their bedroom- they have taken to get separate rooms ever since Cas got back- Lucifer and Gabriel invite him onto the couch, identical and very suggestive smirks in place, and Sam rolls his eyes and takes his Salad to his laptop, eating at the kitchen table to look for their next hunt, only to find that his inspirational, pretty nature wallpapers have been replaced with weird pictures of Shiba Inu dogs adorned with silly captions in comic sans that use the word ‘wow’ much too often.

One thing the two archangels that are more or less tagging along for the ride now never do though, is messing with the Impala, assumably to stay in Dean’s good graces. That they are making that effort makes something in Sam’s chest flutter. Their car remains sacred ground, so to say, and every day, Cas makes sure to leave Dean and Sam for at least an hour while they’re driving so they can talk.

“How are you dealing?” Dean asks, sometime during the second week after Cas’ return, and Sam smiles faintly. “I’m alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well good. Tell me if I need to fry some featherbrains.”

Sam sends his older brother a wry smile, knowing this is all the chick flick talk he can ever expect from Dean, and he’s all the happier for it, too. “Sure.”

And everything is as well and good as it ever was, until it isn’t and shit hits the fan.

A demon Sam and Dean interrogate tips them off about a warehouse, Crowley has gathered all potential prophets inside, innocent people from all over the world, and the building is completely angel warded. They realize that it’s a trap a millisecond too late, and Crowley takes his sweet time educating them on why exactly every demon begs for a quick death after they cave. Pinned to tables in perfect view of each other, they have to watch Crowley cut and twist and scorch, and while both of them have survived much worse without breaking, they never had to watch each other getting tortured before, and it adds a psychological twist Crowley is obviously enjoying on a personal level. He wants to know all there is to know about the angels, about Kevin, about where their secret hideout is where they vanish to for weeks on end, and where the tablets are. At the mention of tablet _s_ , even though the leviathan tablet is currently in Crowley’s possession, Sam and Dean can’t hide their surprise and Crowley reveals the existence of the angel tablet with a calculating gleam in his eyes. They almost break when he offers to trade what he knows about it for small talk about the archangels’ activities. Sam is sorely tempted, because what could Crowley ever do to hurt Gabriel and Lucifer? Meanwhile Dean’s fingernails are getting ripped out one by one. It’s Meg who saves them, of all people, recruited by a desperate Castiel, sneaking in and removing the seals, and three angels in their true wrathful forms come down upon the demons inside, smiting everything in white light. Crowley barely snaps out in time, and Sam, whose eyes are open when the windows burst, is enveloped in the light of two archangels and catches a very brief glimpse of them before he passes out. _Beautiful_.

 

When he wakes, Dean’s name is his first thought.

“Your brother is alive and healed. Castiel is taking care of him.” Gabriel says coolly and when Sam sits up, he realizes he is in the loft again, on the couch, but somehow it is not as comfortable without Lucifer and Gabriel on it. The trickster is tense, looking at him with crossed arms, and Sam knows better than to ask how long Gabriel has been staring at him like that.

“What were you thinking?” Lucifer asks, his voice calm and controlled and void of any kind of mirth. Sam blinks confused. “What?”

“We want to know what you were thinking when you walked right into that trap.” Gabriel says sharply and Sam sighs. “We did not see the sigils first, and even then, there were innocent people in there.”

“No.” Lucifer agrees. He is ice, cold burning fury in his eyes when he looks at Sam. “You did not think. Sam, we cannot keep you from hunting, but that level of stupidity is off limits. Think before you act.”

“We did.” Sam says defensively. “We made a mistake, and we paid for it. Thank you for busting us out, by the way.”

“That won’t cut it, kiddo. Not after this.” Gabriel says and in the blink of an eye he is in front of Sam, glaring at him. “We can’t resurrect you. We have no power whatsoever to drag a soul out of the pit, it’s the one thing Dad took from us when he brought us back, so don’t be so fucking reckless!”

Sam’s eyes widen in surprise at the news and then soften incredibly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t counting on getting busted out of hell, if that’s any consolation.”

“It’s not.” Lucifer gives back, jaw clenched and Sam can’t remember the last time he felt that kind of overwhelming affection for someone. “You were afraid.” He says softly.

“Fuck yes, we were.” Gabriel curses. “You scared two archangels out of their wits, Sam Winchester. Congratulations.” And then Gabe kisses him. Sugar explodes on Sam’s tongue as the trickster licks into his mouth avariciously, tasting him like a rare delicacy, and Sam returns the passion, his tongue against Gabriel’s sending a jolt of need through him. Gabriel buries his hands in Sam’s long hair, yanking at it for good measure, and Sam grabs his hips, pulling him closer. Gabriel pushed them over the edge, and now they’re falling; it’s glorious and dangerous and better than all of Sam’s dreams. Gabriel shoves him backwards, but instead of the white couch’s backrest, Sam lands on a mattress, his skin hitting satin sheets, which is when he learns that his shirt didn’t make it to the bedroom. Gabriel gives his mouth free so he can gasp for air- silly human need, that- and when Sam slowly sits up, he recognizes the room, even though he has never physically been in it before. The bedroom of the angel loft apparently, red sheets on the bed tonight, light dimmed.

Lucifer is staring at him, devouring him with his eyes, and Sam gulps and stands up, mindful that he claimed the first steps of this happening long ago. He comes to stand in front of Lucifer, very aware that he is about to set in motion something that goes far beyond his control, and then he leans in to press his lips against Lucifer’s cool ones, chaste, brief and tempting. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” He whispers and Lucifer makes a low growling sound. “Fuck you, Sam.”

“If you want to.” Sam shrugs, smiling, and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Lucifer’s hands are cold on his burning skin and he has no qualms to use all his supernatural strength to shove Sam onto the bed, leaving fingerprints on his skin, and then he kisses Sam and fries all thoughts that had remained before because, fuck, Gabriel is addictive, but Lucifer kisses Sam knowing every cell of his body. The father of sin shared an existence with Sam for whatever relatively short span of time, and that cannot have any other effect than Sam being wax beneath his touch. And Sam lets him do it, and allows Gabriel to kiss his neck and jaw and shoulder because just now, for the first time, he has understood that for some weird, twisted reason, Lucifer and Gabriel need him just as much as he needs them, and that they have been waiting for him to figure that out. _You could have just told me._ He thinks as he unbuttons Lucifer’s shirt, needing more skin, and there is the distinct advantage of foreplay with mindreading entities that mold reality like Play Doh, because Lucifer simply snaps his fingers and they are naked. Gabriel laughs lowly about Sam’s surprise and subsequent hunger as he rakes his eyes over the naked bodies of the two angels who personally orchestrated every single wet dream he’s had since they returned. “Care to follow up on a few of them?” He asks, voice dark, and Lucifer grins at him. “Finally.”

Gabriel kisses him then, and Lucifer kneels between his legs, and they take him apart, inch by inch, knowing full well how touch starved Sam is and aware of every single tingling nerve-ending. Bites, kisses, licks, touches placed in calculated, overwhelming abundance everywhere on his skin until Sam is a shaking mess of whispered pleas and need. Sam is just about to start begging when he notes a faint glow on the skin of his stomach where Gabriel just kissed him, the light seeming to sink into his skin, and as they continue, he realizes that he’s not hallucinating. “Why are your hickeys glowing?” He asks, curious but unafraid.

“Grace.” Lucifer mumbles. “You didn’t think getting an archangel aroused would be without consequences, did you?” He grins and sucks on the sensitive place where his thigh meets his groin. Sam moans, low and unashamed needy, and then Lucifer takes Sam’s cock into his mouth and Gabriel bites his nipple and he comes, hard, long, twitching and void of anything but the physical pleasure. He loses his sense of time completely. When he regains sentient thoughts, he is still panting heavily and Gabriel and Lucifer are looking down at him with disturbingly similar gleefully triumphant smirks.

“You’re sinful to the point of obscenity, Sam.” Gabriel informs him and Sam laughs. “You’re one to talk.”

Lucifer kisses him again, slow and lascivious this time, and Gabriel, because he’s a fucking sugar junkie, has a lollipop in his mouth, licking it contemplatively while he watches Sam and Lucifer make out. Meanwhile Sam tries very much to keep his thoughts focused, because when he concentrates, he can feel the glowing trace of Lucifer’s hands on his chest and arms, like a tickling feeling lingering a few moments longer than the actual touch, and fuck, this is the most sensual thing he’s ever experienced. Sam’s been high on demon blood, he was possessed by an angel and a demon, had sex with a demon, experienced heaven and hell and nothing nowhere ever felt as good as this.

“What do you want, Sam?” Gabriel asks, voice low and purring, and the ideas that whirl through Sam’s mind at the question are too plentiful and mussed by the post-orgasm endorphins for any clear direction. After a moment of insecurity, they crystallize into one single thought. _I trust you._

Lucifer pulls back and freezes, and so does Gabriel, because if two archangels agree that there is such a thing as too much power, it is probably wise to stop and think for a second, but Sam just moans softly. “Please?”

“Sam. Do you know what you are asking for?” Gabriel demands, because Lucifer is in shock, and refusing to come out of it.

“I’m trusting you not to accidentally smite me if that’s what this is about.” Sam replies, briefly thinking about the list of hilarious sex accidents in one of his ex-girlfriends’ magazines, and the various ways sex with two archangels could make that list, but Gabriel is deathly serious, so Sam pulls his thoughts together. “What do you mean?”

“You know, angels are all about consent.” Gabriel says slowly, his bright golden eyes staring straight into the core of Sam. “And you were just about to give us consent to do anything to you.”

“I very much want you to do everything to me. And you know that.” Sam replies, voice hoarse with need. Gabriel and Lucifer look at each other at the same time, for one long, tense and unreadable moment, and finally, Lucifer speaks. “Are you. Certain.”

Sam looks at him only to drown in ice blue, and just two months ago he would have rather shot himself in the head than said this, but now he just nods. “Yes.” He pulls Lucifer in for a kiss, and the buzz of pleasure is immediate and thrilling. Gabriel’s hands are all over him the next moment, much more urgent than before, greedily claiming every inch of Sam Winchester that isn’t currently touching Lucifer, and very intent to banish every further thought from their human’s mind. Sam is not inexperienced, not by far and neither with girls nor with boys, but in comparison to Gabriel’s and Lucifer’s millennia of experience he might as well be a virgin, because he doesn’t stand a chance, and with his permission, their mind is set on _everything_.

“We’ll be so good to you, Sam.” Lucifer whispers, promises while he and Gabriel tag-team Sam with breathtaking kisses, and Sam moans into Gabriel’s mouth, all writhing limbs and thrusting hips. _Pleasepleasepleaseplease._

They are excruciatingly slow and careful in the beginning and _for fuck’s sake, you can read my mind, now in God’s name, I’m not that breakable, just fuck me already!_ He yelps when Gabriel bites his ear. “Let’s leave Dad out of this, please.”

“Sam, Sam, thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Lucifer scolds, whispering against his neck, grinning, and Sam growls, low and frustrated. “You’re gonna make me beg, aren’t you?”

“Later.” Gabriel promises, mischief in his eyes, and really, Sam doesn’t remember how he ever dealt with the inconveniences of sleeping with people who can’t conjure lube out of thin air, because this is still not going fast enough for him, and with a low chuckle, Lucifer kisses him and he pours an extra portion of grace into Sam through his lips, making him writhe in pleasure, and then Lucifer enters him, and Gabriel sinks down on Sam’s achingly hard cock, and it’s the single most perfect feeling Sam has ever had.  “You’re ours now.” Gabriel breathes the words into Sam’s mouth with a sloppy kiss.

It’s a pleasurable blur after that, there is only need and Lucifer and Gabriel in Sam’s universe for a long, long time, and he lets himself go while they take his pleasure and return it to him something more. They don’t stop until Sam passes out after he comes for the seventh time, because pushing stamina is no exercise for first times.  And Sam needs to sleep, and he does so knowing that Gabriel and Lucifer are protecting him, however odd that thought still is. He trusts them, implicitly, and they don’t panic at the notion anymore as Sam’s eyes fall shut. Angels are watching over him.

 

Sam wakes to the shadows of wings, more than he can count, the air flimmering with them, and he reaches right up, touching the overlapping astral bodies with just his fingertips impulsively. Gabriel sucks in a sharp breath and Lucifer kisses him instantly, with a sense of starving desperation that makes Sam feel protective.

“Hey.” He whispers when Lucifer finally breaks the kiss, looking at him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Gabriel says, and slowly, a smile overtakes the trickster’s face, because Sam is not freaking out, nor is he angry or anxious, and there is not a trace of regret to be found in his soul. “Slept well?”

“Yeah.” It takes only a vague inclination from Sam for Gabriel to embrace him from behind, pressing a kiss against the back of Sam’s neck.

“Why can I see your wings?”

“You saw us in our true form yesterday.” Gabriel explains, letting his hands wander over Sam’s back wantonly. “If there had been any doubt that you were made for us before, it’d be quite undebateable now.”

“I can live with that.” Sam says and buries his face against Lucifer’s neck, smiling, and Lucifer kisses his temple. “So glad to hear that.”

 _I need to tell Dean._ Sam thinks, without a hurry because he can very vividly imagine what he and Cas are up to right now, even though he very deliberately chooses not to, distracting himself with memories from last night.

“Later.” Lucifer growls, and that’s the last verbal communication that morning.

Later turns out to be late afternoon when they meet up at a random bar in South Dakota, and Dean, as expected, needs barely half a glance to know.

“You happy?” He asks while he and Sam are getting drinks for their table, and Sam meets his eyes, smiling lightheartedly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Dean nods.

And somehow, weirdly and against all odds, for the moment, it truly is.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked that. It was the first time I wrote something in present tense. If you did, leave a review.  
> EDIT: Guys, I've got a chapter two and three for this, that is to say, I wrote some more stuff, but I need a Betareader really bad because, you probably noticed that, interpunctation is my nemesis. Also the plot is a little more complicated and I want to make sure there are no inconsistencies before I post it. If you're interested, message me.


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